


Only you

by ShadowOfTheNight



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alcohol, Denial, Drama, Drunk Sex, Fade to Black, Fluff, M/M, Mages and Templars, Romance, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2699435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowOfTheNight/pseuds/ShadowOfTheNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greagoir makes what he thinks is the biggest mistake of his life, only to find it was the best decision he's ever made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only you

**Author's Note:**

> Something to pass the time and shed light on my other DA OTP Greaving. Originally posted to ffnet under Oliversgurl

Greagoir stood rigid in his new armor as the Knight-Commander before him bestowed a sword into his outstretched hands. He had been training for this day from the very first time he put on the Templar armor though it was not a position he actively sought. He flourished the sword as expected before kneeling. He felt a gentle lassitude come over him when the Grand Cleric placed her hands on his head and spoke the words of his benediction.

"Greagoir. You have been chosen for this task because of your dedication to the Chantry and the ways of Andraste. You did not seek this, but we bestow it to you anyway. Will you continue to uphold our laws, regulations, and most importantly, our faith?"

"I will," he responded, his head still bowed.

She took her hands from his head then. "Arise, Knight-Commander Greagoir." The she stepped to his left, where the red-haired bane of his life stood with an impish smile. Irving also kneeled as he received his benediction. "You, Irving, have shown yourself to be talented and powerful, yet an ever obedient son of the Chantry as well. You have been an excellent teacher, leading many successfully through the Harrowing and onto becoming teachers and scholars in their own right. Thus we charge you with the same three obligations as the Knight-Commander. Will you face the challenge we have laid before you with an open mind, a glad heart, and devotion?"

Greagoir watched Irving lips twitch in a smile and groaned inwardly when the mage responded, "With all of my heart."

The Grand Cleric stepped away from the two of them and gave a motherly smile. "I never thought I would see this day. Gentlemen, please keep this Tower safe and as inviting as you can. The apprentices _all_ depend on the two of you now."

Greagoir saluted sharply and turned on his heel, heading for the office that was now his. He was troubled, frustrated and angry. While the ceremony had been anything but improper that  _mage_  deviated from the proper forms of response and made the whole thing seem like a wedding! This was not how he was supposed to feel his first day as Knight-Commander.  _He_  was the one in charge and the one who had the last say in all matters regarding the residents of the Tower. He would not let Irving undermine the honor and responsibility he'd been given.

Being so lost in his own thoughts, he nearly ran over an apprentice on his way up the stairs. Greagoir cursed his clumsy feet.

"Ah!" The blond apprentice squeaked and scrambled out of Greagoir's way before dropping to the floor and scrambling to collect all the papers and books that he dropped.

Greagoir sighed and sat on his knees beside the young man, 'Uldred,' he reminded himself and began stacking the books odd to the side.

"Ah," Uldred made another funny noise, "Ser, there's no need, I've got it." And to prove his point he promptly dropped a few more papers.

"Nonsense, Uldred. I'm the one who ran into you instead of paying attention to my surroundings. The least I could do is help you gather your things." The titles on one of the heavy books caught his eye. "'Blood Mages: How to find them and protect yourself.'" He gave the young man a questioning look.

"I wanted to get ahead for my Harrowing. I also want to be able to protect the Circle if something should ever happen here. I'm not sure how much of this is truth and how much may be superstition and fear, but I plan on doing a lot more research."

Greagoir was mildly taken aback. "I commend your service to the Circle," he said quietly, "Just be careful, Maleficarum are silver-tongued devils."

"Oh yes, Ser! I will, Ser."

Greagoir nodded and after gathering the last of the items, he stood and headed to his room. After making it safely there and not tripping over anymore people, he stripped out of his armor and dressed in a pair of breeches before taking a seat at his desk, intending to write out a list of changes and plans he had for the circle. He didn't want Solitary to ever be used again for first time escapees and he wanted his Templars to no longer have the freedom to violate the Mage's privacy based on word of mouth "evidence" passed from person to person. The more he stared at the paper though, the more his mind drifted back to Irving and the insufferable smile the man seemed to throw about.

Greagoir shook his head as a surge of feelings welled up in him.  _I am not jealous. I don't wish he'd only smile at me. I don't want... Oh bollocks._  He shook his head again and reached for the very expensive Antivan Brandy his father had gifted him. He had never been drunk a day in his life, but it seemed as good an idea as any right now, just to get that  _mage_  out of his mind.

Greagoir stared at the exquisitely crafted glass bottle with a certain amount of suspicion before uncorking it carefully. The bottle, for all it's beauty, said nothing. But then, bottles seldom do. He picked the thing up, careful to not splash it anywhere and took a sniff. The scent of plums with a vaguely spicy undertone assaulted his nostrils and he snorted before setting the bottle back down to stare at it once more.

After a long staring contest with the bottle, he finally pulled out a glass from under his desk and poured it about half full. iIt's just brandy. How bad could it be?/i he thought right before he took a swig.

The liquid burned its way down his throat and stole his breath before sending him into a coughing fit. When he had finally stopped coughing, he wiped the tears from his eyes and gave the bottle another glare. He huffed after a moment and picked up the glass again, this time taking small sips as he thought about that damned red-headed mage.

He would die before admitting to anyone that he found Irving attractive. He was a true son of the church and he would not forsake his duty like so many of his fellows had done. The mages depended on them for protection and he would not imperil that by giving in to his baser instincts... at least not in public.

The brandy had his limbs feeling quite heavy and a little tingly. He was certainly relaxed and wondered why he'd never had anything to drink before. He closed his eyes with a soft smile on his lips, one that faltered a little as thoughts of Irving fluttered through his mind, like an errant butterfly.

He pictured Irving smiling at him, laughing even. He toyed with his innocent thoughts for a little before sipping on the brandy some more and allowing his mind to drift into the more primal areas of thought. Irving towering over him, kissing him. Those long and thin fingers dancing over his skin. He groaned as he imagined Irving's mouth on him.

With a grunt, he set the glass on his desk and pushed back, intending to take care of the troublesome erection he'd caused for himself. "Stupid Irving," he mumbled, palming himself with a barely restrained hiss. "Stupid Irving with your beautiful hair." He continued to stroke himself, faster and faster.

"Greagoir?"

The door had opened. Irving was standing there, smiling at him. He gaped, through the haze of alcohol and lust.

Irving stepped inside the door, closed it and crossed the room quickly. "Let me take care of that for you, my dear," he practically purred into the templar's ear.

Greagoir tilted his head to the side and caught Irving in a sloppy kiss, surrendering himself to the mage's touch.

Greagoir awoke the next morning with aches all over and only hazy half memories of the night before. He was disgusted to see that the bottle was still on the desk, cheerfully glowing at him. He took a drink of water from the pitcher by his bed and then proceeded to wash his face.  _Today is just as important as yesterday._  He said to himself, shoving the memories out of his mind, when a rustling from his bed had him freezing in place.

"Mrrmph. Greagoir? It's too early. Come back to bed."

Greagoir turned to stare at the tousled red hair on his pillow and the sleepy amber eyes staring through the curled strands. He blinked rapidly, as if trying to process what he saw. When the memories of the night before came right out of where he'd shoved them, he recoiled and pointed at the door. "Get out."

Irving stared impassively before he stood and dressed in his robes. The mage turned as if to say something then he shook his head and left the room. Greagoir dressed very quickly and followed the other man's exit, heading straight for the Chantry.

When he finally stepped through the doorway into the Tower's Chantry he took a very deep, calming breath. He bowed respectfully to the statue of Andraste, before making a beeline for the revered Mother and dropping to his knees. He bowed his head in shame and spoke, "Revered Mother, I'm not worthy for the task you have given me."

"And why is that, my child?" He swore she sounded amused.

"I have given into my temptations," he explained, face burning with embarrassment. "I have defiled the duty that has been place upon me and I've," he paused, trying to figure out a way to tell her without offending, "had relations with one of the mages."

She snorted and he looked up in surprise to see her smiling. "You've done nothing wrong, except in thinking that you have. Go apologise to the mage you undoubtedly offended this morning and carry yourself with pride. You are the best man for this job and I will trust no other in your stead." She chuckled a little. "You are a good man, Greagoir. Smart, too. You'll figure out how to handle this. Now scoot," she made shooing motions at him, "I still have morning benedictions to go through."

Greagoir stared up at her, confused. "I... what?"

"You heard me. Shoo."

He slowly climbed to his feet and trudged through the Chantry. This was not what he'd expected, and he had no idea where to proceed from here.  _I... will apologise as I've been instructed._  He thought decisively. He turned on his heel and strode to Irving's rooms. What he saw next stopped him dead in the hallway, however.

Irving stood with his arms wrapped around Wynne his lips close to her ear, whispering some tawdry secret no doubt. The way she drew back with a shocked expression left very little doubt in Greagoir's mind that Irving told her what had happened between them. She suddenly grinned at the other mage and patted his face with a wry smile before she hooked her arm in his and pulled him into his rooms and shut the door.

Greagoir stood there for a moment, not realizing that he was staring at the closed door. When he finally came to his senses he shook like a dog shedding water and tried to ignore the clenching and twisted feeling in his gut. So this was what betrayal felt like. Still, he held his head high, pushed it out of his mind and went about his duties.

Three weeks passed like this. The burning in his chest never went away and he took it out on everyone around him. No one wanted to come anywhere close to him, and even the Revered Mother stayed out of his way.

So did Irving.

Every morning someone new left the mage's chambers and it was still driving Greagoir to distraction. Only one of the recruits dared ask him why he was watching the First Enchanter so closely. That recruit had come away with an earful of anti-mage diatribe and cleaning duty for the next month.

Greagoir sat in his rooms, staring at the brandy. He hadn't moved it since that night and staring at it just made all of those confusing feelings well up inside of him all over again and he finally shoved himself away from the table and stalked his way to Irving's door.

"Mage. We need to speak."

The door opened to a slightly frowning Irving, "Whatever for, Commander?"

"Just come with me," his tone softened a little, "please?"

The expression on the mage's face turned from a frown into a smile and Greagoir felt as if he were missing something as he led the auburn haired man back to his office. He gestured to the single chair, waiting for Irving to sit down before he began, "I want to apologise to you. I... should not have sent you away that morning. I should have spoken to you instead," he swallowed heavily, "And now you have moved on, not once, but many times and I regret that I was unable to-" he broke off and turned away, unable to say anything more.

A rustle of fabric behind him signaled that the mage had stood up and he braced himself for the door shutting. But when warm, strong arms wrapped themselves around him he sagged backwards into the embrace, relieved. Then his eyes widened and his mouth went dry when he heard Irving whisper into his ear.

"There has only ever been you, my dear. Only you."


End file.
